What is faith?
by Arken Elf
Summary: Movieverse/G1 influence. As Optimus Prime fights for the Allspark on Earth, the Autobots on Cybertron have lost the war and now they have to face the consequences. Prowl’s POV.
1. Chapter 1

**What is faith?**

_Author's notes: All characters of this fanfiction belong to their respective owners._

_This is a dark fic, so expect to find issues related to this genre. If you don't like, please don't proceed._

**Prologue**

Prowl allowed his glance to travel again around the cell. Darkness surrounded him; that was nothing new… Many cycles had passed since his arrival there, and every time he onlined his systems after recharge mode he focused on his surroundings with the hope that he would find the different scenery that refused to arrive.

His faith in his leader should have vanished a long time ago, but the memory of his companions and friends was enough to keep him going on.

His group was fragmented, broken; his only hope was on the shoulders of Optimus Prime and the small group that departed with him. Prowl hadn't had news from them, not for a long time since before his capture.

The tactician straightened himself, trying to assume a more comfortable position. His structure presented severe damage caused by his captors. The once imposing wing-like doors were lax at his back. His enemies had been magnanimous enough not to tear them apart, and at the same time very cruel when they dislocated them, making sure that pain would be a constant companion in the Autobot's existence. But, after suffering after all that time, Prowl was very used to it.

His hands chained to the roof of the cell gave him no mobility other than switching the weight of his body from one leg to the other one. That was all he could do as he waited for his captor to return, the only one that sooner or later would deliver rest to his wounded spark.

But why was he waiting for the return of the one being that only carried pain with him, that only brought words of hate and rancor?

The answer was more than obvious: it was the only way to know that he was still there himself, still functioning…

His exhausted processor returned the images of that last moment… the farewell…

His friends, his leader… departing in search of the Allspark, leaving Prowl and the rest of the Autobots to continue fighting, waiting for their return. All they had when that goodbye was said, was faith.

"Faith… it no longer exists in this Universe," he heard a cold voice, the same voice of the one that tortured him with words every time he lost himself in his own thoughts. Why couldn't they leave him alone? They had won the war. What was the victory in torturing him? Logic prevailed in that single moment, exposing the bare truth.

"Tell me now, where is your faith, tactician? Where is the answer you are waiting for? Where is that leader that abandoned you?"

Questions assaulted Prowl with renewed strength, as he felt a rough hand touching his shattered armor.

"WHERE IS HE?" the voice repeated.

But the game was over. Words had lost their meaning a long time ago. A punch made Prowl react, making him focus his attention on the owner of the abusive hands all over him, the captor that refused to kill him but that at the same time possessed his freedom.

Prowl had only one answer to his questions, only one.

"He will come back."

---------------------

_What is faith? How far can it take us?_

--------------------

"Why do you keep believing so blindly in him? What has he given to you to keep you going on? Why don't you surrender? You already lost the war," the words continued spitting their poison.

Another hit was enough to offline Prowl again, his resistance weakened, but once again only one thought existed his mind.

_Optimus… where are you?_

_To be continued._

_Thank you very much for reading._

_Thanks to Taypan for translate this fic, and thanks to Irate Pirate for Beta Reader._


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1**

**My dream, your reality**

………………………………………..

Oblivion can be a blessing in certain moments, a space for freedom; the only safe place until it gets shattered… But the need to hold on to something is unavoidable, the only way to keep the mind stable.

One figure was standing in the distance, his structure shinning imposingly at the top of the hill, contrasting with the colors around him. A mixture of reddish tones decorated the surroundings of a strange scene, unknown, foreign…

Organic forms of life were present, peculiar designs that only the ones of their own kind were able to reproduce. How many times had he read about that? How many times had he re-created similar scenes in his processor, trying to give them a sense of reality? But now the scene was almost perfect; the one he called leader staring at it.

He could see him clearly, looking at the stars, so far away from his real home. For a moment he wanted to approach him, talk to him, ask him… How could his leader be so calm whilst they were fighting to survive, whilst they waited for his promised return?

_It's fake… it's not real… _He whispered within his dream. Optimus Prime should be fighting at that same moment, searching for the force that would give life back to their world. He would never abandon them.

……………………………………………….

Most of the time, the truth is worse than a lie, but it's better to accept it than to evade it.

………………………………………………..

Prowl walked to the image in his dreams. He tried to think about what to say; he needed to know the answer to his questions, something to confirm that his fight hadn't been useless. It didn't matter if he received a simple illusion in response, a mistake within his logical programming.

"We have been waiting for you," he said, standing beside Optimus Prime, but his leader did not respond.

"Why don't you say anything? Why do you ignore me this way?" Prowl insisted, trying to look for some reaction in that unreadable face.

"Have you forgotten what you left behind? Won't you come back…?" Questions flew from his vocalizer again, but the answer remained the same. Nothing.

The tactician extended his hand trying to touch Optimus, but luck didn't allow him to get any further.

…………………………………………

The journey ended. A slight touch on his side brought him back to his horrible reality. He hadn't reached his goal.

"Prime…" he whispered, suddenly aware that his captor had returned to the cell.

"It's good to see you decided to come back," the Decepticon said, bursting into the darkness with the shine of his red visor. "Although it must be disappointing for you to discover that I am not your pathetic Prime."

The voice of the Decepticon had a dangerous tone. His hands touched Prowl's structure again, stopping on his chest, where the remains of his Autobot insignia were exposed amongst the wounds inflicted by savage claws.

"Why don't you forget about him? Why do you permit his memory to continue chasing your existence? Why don't you allow yourself to move on?"

The voice was suddenly soft, almost kind. A claw caressed Prowl's face in a delicate way. "Why don't you accept that he forgot about you?"

The Decepticon placed himself in front of Prowl. Blue and Red faced each other, weakness and strength, coldness and heat, compassion and hate.

So different but yet so similar.

"You should accept it," the Decepticon continued, "after everything you have seen."

There was no way to know if he was smirking or not, but his voice seemed to cackle, enjoying the pain of his prisoner.

"No! That's not true… It's a lie…" the captive cried.

"You know it's the truth. All I did was show you the reality."

Prowl struggled against his ties, repeating the same words inside his mind. The Decepticon was lying; he was only trying to undermine his will.

"Why do you blind yourself, Prowl? There is no need to fight anymore."

Those words didn't fool him. Prowl knew that the one torturing him was doing it for pure pleasure.

"It doesn't matter what you say or do… you will never win," Prowl said. "Never, Soundwave, never…"

The navy blue Decepticon didn't reply, he didn't have to. As much as the Autobot tactician fought, he knew that sooner or later he would fall, just as the others did before him. The victory of the Decepticons had been announced, and even though their leader had perished on that far away organic world, Cybertron was theirs now.

"Sooner or later you will accept the truth," he said before abandoning the cell again.

………………………………..

_This story might get darker during the following chapters. Thanks for reading._

_And thanks to Iratepirate for beta reader._


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2**

**Let me leave**

Time continued going by. Prowl couldn't feel his hands anymore, still shackled by those chains that seemed to be already part of his body. Apparently the pain receivers in his wrists had deactivated some time ago, numbing any sensation, leaving him alone with his tired mind that could only fight to relieve his current situation. He was aware that they couldn't depend on something ephemeral; he needed tangible truths in order to find away to continue.

"Why do you say _they_?" the question could be heard inside his processor. Soundwave had terminated his every firewall during his last visit, leaving Prowl totally at his mercy. "There's nobody else to save. You are alone and you know it. Or does your logic dictate otherwise?"

Those questions assaulted the prisoner constantly, denying him the right to rest. Soundwave's voice wasn't challenging or threatening. He was only reminding Prowl of his personal failure.

"He trusted in you, and you failed. That's why you deserve this ending." Hope had no place when truth was so blunt. "Nobody knows you are still functioning. They won't look for you; you are nothing more than another casualty of this war, the same that devastated an entire race. Do you think you are more important than the millions that died before you? Your time for achievements and success are over. They are buried under the debris of what once were beautiful cities of crystal and metal. There is no future left. Accept it and stop dreaming!"

Prowl knew his words didn't come from the Decepticon's twisted imagination. The ending was close and even though Prowl held on to his dream, he knew that's all it was, a mere illusion. The rest of his kind were very far away, crossing the stars in search of their lost leader.

His optics illuminated when his mind brought him the image of all those friends he would never see or hear again. For them, he was a lost hero, a comrade that sacrificed himself for their freedom. But mechs come and go. They soon would forget about him; his name turning into another name more.

Why fight? The question didn't need a real answer. The real meaning of all the battles fought was lost; only promises gave the combatants strength enough to keep going.

Why fight for an empty world? Was it worth sacrificing for something that couldn't be reunited again?

He had to face it. It was over.

------------------

Soundwave continued watching the damaged structure of Prowl. He didn't understand why the Autobot kept resisting. He didn't have anything left. His faction had lost the war, its scarce survivors scattered through the galaxy looking for shelter, dealing and dying with the lack of energy.

But Prowl was so stubborn. What had Prime given to him, to make him so loyal?

Soundwave didn't know. Not even his cold and analytical logic could find an answer. Faith was an idea that had no place in his processor.

--------------

Prowl could feel his ending coming. He knew he would die in that forgotten place. He had to accept his destiny, the same as so many that had found death in that same cell. He wondered about them, about their names. He certainly would never have thought about those anonymous mechs, but now that he was going to share their fate things were completely different.

What had been the error of his ways?

-----------------

_It is said that only dreamers and the naïve believe that good always triumphs over evil._

_Begin flashback._

Prowl glanced at his old friend and subordinate, who seemed to be distracted. Something had happened and he hadn't been informed.

"Can I know why you are so serious?" the tactician asked, grabbing an energon cube and offering it to the other mech.

Jazz hesitated before coldly responding. "I'm sorry, Prowl, it's confidential."

His words were painful. They were old friends, but Prime had given an order. Prowl decided to return to his office. He wouldn't complain; he didn't have the right to do so. He understood his friend had his secret orders, and they had to be kept that way.

Jazz watched him leave in silence.

When the enforcer arrived at his office, he found Optimus Prime waiting for him.

"Prowl," the leader said, both mechs entering the room. The time had arrived for him to be informed about the plan.

-----------

Prowl jolted in his chains. What had happened? The memories were so fresh in his memory, as if they just had happened. He was confused. Why had the memories arrived so suddenly?

"There is news, Autobot," Soundwave said, glancing at him from the entrance of the cell. When he didn't get any attention from his prisoner, the Decepticon walked inside. "News from your faction. Apparently, they have found it."

Prowl felt an immediate relief, but he knew something dark was hidden behind those words. Why would Soundwave give him any hope?

Silence was Prowl's only weapon.

"Aren't you going to say anything?" the telepath said, letting his hands damage Prowl's doors again. Pain returned, but it was more ignored than ever.

"There is more," Soundwave continued, increasing his mental pressure on the Autobot's mind. As his sharp finger caressed the remains of the siren on the back of his victim, his voice descended a level and turned into a whisper. "The spark of the saboteur Jazz has been extinguished."

Words were curses, omens of the destruction of the remains of what had been hope.

"No…" Prowl said, trying to face the Decepticon with the little strength he had left in his spark.

"His insignificant body was torn into pieces by Megatron, his spark extinguished within his claws. The last thing he heard was the laugh of my leader."

"NO!" the Autobot repeated, but this time he couldn't deny it. That's why Jazz had come into his mind, to say goodbye…

Jazz couldn't have fallen… He tried to believe it but he was unable. His spirit descended even more, reaching the floor. He remembered again, that meeting so long time ago, the last time he had seen Jazz.

--------------

_Flashback._

The meeting hadn't gone as well as he had thought. Prowl respected his leader, but he was aware his most recent orders were too risky. It wasn't an intelligent strategy, at least not from his point of view.

"Let me go instead of you, Prime. Your troops need you here," he said seriously.

"I can't let the Decepticons win. The hopes of our race depend on this mission. I trust in you and I want you to stay here with Ultra Magnus. Together you can both maintain our position here until we recover what we are looking for. Besides, I'm not going alone. Mechs in whom I fully trust will accompany me."

"If you don't let me go in your place, at least take me with you."

But Optimus' opinion didn't change. Prowl couldn't understand why his leader wanted to depart. The mission was important indeed, but what was the point of dividing the Autobots?

"You don't trust in me," Prowl said. He wasn't suggesting, he was affirming it. Optimus Prime didn't say anything.

----------------

"Letting yourself be guided by feelings is a mistake," Soundwave said. "Look where it took you."

"Damn you! You Decepticons are destroying everything our ancestors built and fought for. You destroyed our past, our present and have condemned the future," Prowl retorted, exhausted.

"Perhaps, but it's amusing," Soundwave whispered, strongly pressing Prowl's shattered siren.

This time Prowl couldn't avoid it. The pain was excruciating and he screamed.

"Don't fall into despair yet. This is just the beginning. When you decide to cooperate, things will change."

---------------

Claws destroyed the alloy, travelling through old wounds and creating new ones. Energon flowed slowly, bathing Prowl's structure, shinny liquid soiling what once had been white metal.

"You deserve this punishment and you know it," Soundwave's words drilled his captive's mind. Outside, only silence reigned, but inside the cries of desperation from the once proud Autobot delighted the telepath's mind.

"Look at me and tell me it doesn't hurt, tell me you don't regret your actions," Soundwave said, placing himself in front of Prowl, ready to snatch his red insignia away.

The enforcer didn't want to respond, but his body didn't obey him anymore. Behind him, Jazz watched him with sadness.

Prowl wanted to apologize to him, but Jazz wasn't there. It was only a cruel illusion created by Soundwave.

"Everything has an ending, Prowl. Accept it and allow the pain to disappear."

Prowl felt his chest tightening and a hand heading toward his spark chamber. Finally he understood what was happening. Soundwave was toying with him as the torture addict he was, or perhaps it was only the game of a sick mind that needed somebody to share his reality. But whatever it was, it was too late; Prowl had lost everything he had done, even his identity.

He had fallen into the trap and now he couldn't stop it.

He couldn't stop Soundwave from starting his sadistic game again.

Prowl emitted one last desperate cry of help when he felt his spark itself being tortured. He knew nobody would come to his aid.

---------------

Prowl didn't know the exact moment in which his strength abandoned him; he didn't notice the damage his weight caused to his hands when he offlined, losing all balance. He didn't feel the presence of someone else, releasing him.

There was nothing left in his processor, just the need to depart and comeback again. But life never grants such desires. Despite his pain, Prowl wasn't allowed to abandon his pain, his desperation, the shadow of guilt.

He didn't want to beg, but reason gave him no choice.

"Please…" he said. "Just let me go…"

---------


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3**

**Lie or truth**

_Author's notes: I appreciate your support very much. I hope this fic will fulfill your expectations._

………………………………….

An idea was all we had left. An idea was all we kept fighting for, the one thing that made us go on. But the strategy failed. I wonder what would Optimus would think? What would he say if he could see how mistaken we were?

Would he be… disappointed?

………………………………….

Prowl onlined slowly, his tired optics searching for the usual darkness. However, things were not clear; the place was not the same. The scenery had changed and also his position.

His weight was not being supported by his exhausted arms anymore. He was laying on one of his sides, and his doors were resting on another surface that supported them as well as easing some of the pain.

He felt relieved for a moment, but he quickly rejected the feeling. He had lowered his guard before and he was living the result of such mistake. He couldn't allow himself the luxury of relaxing or feeling safe; something forbidden on the battlefield, even more within the enemy's hands.

Laboriously he managed to move his hand, the same hand that now showed the marks of torture. The hand seemed practically destroyed but he could still move it. As he could, he surveyed the damage as he rested it on the floor. The fluid of his own life ran before his optics. His internal circuitry was exposed; he could even see some of his most basic connections through that tangle of cables that were his, some still active, others completely amputated, probably because of the weight of the shackles he had to stand.

Impacted by what his optics were seeing, he continued scanning the rest of his battered body. His arm was in a similar shape to his hand, traces of torture on what was left of his armor.

Prowl bowed his glance, taking in every part of that fatigued body. His chest was also battered, his Autobot insignia gone. Only the old scars remained, surpassed by the damaged metal and the spattered energon that adorned the figure of the warrior. He stopped his travel of agony, everything felt so empty.

Nothing mattered anymore. He could or could not be replaced; it made no difference. But the absence of his insignia was painful. An inexistent space now, except for the corroded wound he had instead.

_Why can't I just die? _he asked himself, aware that such words would never leave his processor. He was nothing more than a marked mech, damaged, forgotten… _Why am I not allowed…?_

There was no forgiveness for those who didn't deserve it. Many lives had depended on him and he had failed. The sparks of his fallen comrades rested on his hands. He was receiving a punishment he deserved, he had to accept it with honour.

Then why was it so hard to forget, to accept his destiny?

Confusion was increasing in his processor, his circuits trying to compute concepts he wasn't able to understand. What was the objective of such torture? Would his sacrifice be worthy of something? Perhaps he had finally forgotten the real reason of the war. Perhaps he had abandoned faith…

Unable to stand it anymore, he did the one thing he never imagined he would do, but it was too late to give any importance to pride; his soul was marked and he couldn't change that. As the scenes that anticipated his ending played themselves inside his mind –enemy hands tearing out the core that guarded his spark - tears escaped from his blue optics.

He was unable to contain himself anymore.

……………………………

_Flashback._

Mirage observed the word exchange discreetly and tried not to call attention. He was not a mech that intervened in matters that didn't concern him; prudence was part of his aristocratic personality.

Prowl had left the room angry, something very rare because the tactician never allowed such feeling to take over him, but apparently the problem was worse than it seemed.

Prowl walked beside Mirage, ignoring him. He still had a lot of work to do before the cycle ended.

Jazz approached Mirage, staring at the same scene. "I know he doesn't understand what's happening, but not everything can be predicted with logic or mathematic calculations. You and I are a living proof of that."

"Is there any chance to get back?" Mirage asked, staring at his superior officer.

"Take care of him. He'll need all the help he can find," was all that Jazz said.

……………………………..

_Nothing in life is certain, except that there is no way to predict the future. Although, it can be prevented._

…………………………….

"Sometimes you think you know somebody and suddenly you realize it was not true," someone whispered at his back.

Prowl tensed, terror taking over his spark as he heard that familiar voice, a voice with a refined touch that very few could have in that apocalyptical world.

"It can't be…" he said with a paranoia that would have made Red Alert proud.

"We all have some surprises inside," the other one said, getting closer to Prowl. A delicate hand travelled over the wounded mech's body. But, unlike the treatment he had received previously, this one seemed kind.

Still, the tactician didn't move. He knew that Soundwave could create fake realities, he could play with his mind as he had done every time he had had the opportunity, slowly destroying his spirit. Prowl wouldn't be able to stand it again. Not in this way.

"_I beg you, stop doing this,"_ he thought, preparing to battle the new attack he was facing, the mockery, the arrogance that stepped on his existence, proving to him again and again how useless he was now. Prowl offlined his optics, contracting his body as much as he could, waiting for the blow that never came.

Still at his back, Mirage was watching him.

"I'm sorry I took so long, but numbers were not on my side," he whispered.

……………….

_Flashback._

The group had departed following the brutal battle of Tiger Pax. Many fell that day, others were left behind. As they could, the survivors continued fighting, regrouping within the ruins.

Prowl analyzed the situation with frustration; too many things against him to even find an adequate percentage to act.

"We don't have time, Prowl," Ultra Magnus said, urging him to continue the attack.

"Our troops are exhausted, our casualties considerable. My recommended course of action is not to continue," the tactician replied.

"I know, but if we stay here we'll die anyway. We must return to a safe place or all this will be pointless."

"Then we will need a good distraction to attract the enemy."

"Fine, that is your job. Any suggestions?"

……………………………………

_It had been his decision…_

…………………………………..

Prowl continued waiting. The answer never came, neither did the blow or the mockery; only the gentile words of an ally.

"What happened?" Mirage asked.

Prowl tried to believe he was not living another lie. He knew he wasn't dead. That would have been too good to be true. He had already accepted the idea that death was out of his reach; he was destined to stay in the pathetic state he was in, a half-living example for those who dared to challenge the Decepticons.

"Don't move," the friendly voice spoke again. It wasn't an order, but a petition.

_Why don't you just end this game? You won, I admit it… You were stronger than me… _He wanted to say the words, but he couldn't. The only option he had left was to resign, to accept he was at his enemy's mercy.

"This will hurt, but I need to do it in order to put your doors back in their place. I'm not an expert, but as you know, there are some skills we all should know about," Mirage continued; his attempts to engage in conversation were refreshing.

Finally, Prowl could see the form of his companion when he positioned himself in front of the damaged tactician.

"Trust me. Just this once. I know it's hard to believe, but I will help you," Mirage continued.

If it was really him, he had to understand the status of his superior officer. Mirage had been trained for that kind of situation, as well as his unit. It was part of what he was, what he lived every cycle.

……………..

_Flashback._

Mirage stared at the message on the screen. It had been almost a vorn since their miraculous escape, since Prowl had been captured. Despite that loss, the unit had managed to continue, surviving the battles, waiting for the return of the tactician. Many brave Autobots died during those days, but the ones still functioning knew that there was something left to fight for. There was no way they would waste the sacrifice of so many comrades and friends.

"Sir," Mirage said, calling the attention of his commander. "We have received a message."

Optimus Prime was calling his troops to join him on a new planet they would call home.

………………………

Mirage continued repairing Prowl, at least enough so he could walk by himself. Recovering his mental stability would be a challenge, but first things first, and there was still a lot of work to do on Prowl's battered body.

"Prepare yourself," Mirage said, grabbing the tactician's door. "This is the only way. Try not to scream."

One single movement was enough to put the dislocated door back in its place. The pain was excruciating, but Prowl didn't scream. That was nothing compared with the suffering he had experienced at the sadistic hands of Soundwave. Nothing could equal that.

Prowl had decided to trust in that illusion that Mirage was, giving it the benefit of the doubt. It was that, or die, because if he'd lost all his reasons to believe, his unbreakable faith would be no more.

"T…th… thank… you," he muttered, as his body was able to feel again.

Mirage smiled. Perhaps there was still hope for salvation.

_To be continued._

_Author's notes: Sometimes psychological torture is worse than physical, the wounds left are far too profound. _

_thanks to iratepirate for be a my Beta reader and Taipan for translate this fic._

_Your reviews are highly appreciated._


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter 4**

**Heroes**

…………………..

Mirage focused on the repairs. Prowl had entered recharge mode; his body was too damaged to continue struggling anymore and had followed a survival command. His systems were exhausted, unable to work at full capacity.

"War is cruel," Mirage said to himself, aware of the danger they were in. He couldn't risk moving Prowl, but he also understood that remaining in the same place was too dangerous. His allies had departed a long time ago, leaving them alone, in a place in which support would never come.

Even the most noble of mechs were forced to go against their beliefs sometimes, to break their codes in order to survive one day more. That was war for Mirage.

…………………..

(Flashback)

Mirage knew what was happening; his companions had tried to dissuade him, arguing that the cause was lost, but he didn't care. Who better than someone in his position to dominate the risks that came with that simple decision?

"You won't have support", Hound told him. Both mechs were walking through the hallways of their improvised base. The place was not the best facility, but it fulfilled the basic needs.

"It would be suicide," Hound continued.

He appreciated Mirage. Despite the opinion many had of the spy, he was a good soldier, reliable although reserved. Hound hated the idea of abandoning him because of his stubbornness. Many friends had fallen by enemy fire to sacrifice one more for of nothing.

"I have a job to do," was the aristocrat's simple answer. "Orders from my squad leader."

He ended the discussion. Hound glanced at him, unable to contradict him. He knew that if he stayed, he would probably die, but orders were orders and surviving was all he had done for so many vorns. His faction hadn't been designed for warfare, but for work. Most of the Autobots depended on their leaders to act.

"He wouldn't have wanted such kind of sacrifice," Hound said. For Mirage, the voice of his friend was as bad as treason. Many had added Prowl to the list of deceased, one number more inside the ciphers that, ironically, he used to count himself.

"Perhaps," Mirage whispered, but as Jazz once had told him, all of them were the living proof that probabilities didn't reveal everything, and Mirage was determined to prove it.

"I'll stay," he decided, heading toward the commanding officer quarters.

It wasn't necessary to hide the truth. There were details he still had to take care of before his departure.

"Goodbye, Hound," he said, sending his farewell with simplicity and pride.

"Bye, Mirage."

……………….

Prowl's systems came back on line. He could hear Mirage's whispers, resounding peacefully in his audios, a soft and suggesting tone trying to calm him as the pain in his back decreased. His processor tried to clear itself, trying to remember. How had he ended there? Just as he had the first time, he analyzed his surroundings, not recognizing what he found. How much time would pass before finding darkness again? Fear returned. He wanted to believe he was not inside another dream or illusion, but the damage was already done.

"How long will you keep it this time?" he said. "When will you get tired of playing with my mind?"

No words could give voice to his thoughts, only his disappointed glance could.

"_I wish I could talk to you, I wish you could listen… but that's still far from happening. Just one step at the time,"_ Mirage thought.

He approached the wounded tactician, slowly and carefully. Prowl wasn't reacting logically. His behaviour was dictated by fear, just as his actions and gestures confirmed it.

How long did you wait? When did you let Soundwave's lies get to your processor?

Prowl wouldn't answer his questions, but his injuries spoke by themselves… the marks of killer claws, the absence of his Autobot insignia, his shattered chest, the way his weak spark was reacting toward pain….

……………………..

_Prowl…_

"Every time I believe it's over, you find a new game to continue. What's my crime? What did I do to deserve such punishment?

"Once I had faith, I thought not everything would be in vain, that it was worth fighting, but after everything I have gone through I'm still trying to understand your reasons. What is your real motivation? You have terminated my spirit, destroyed my barriers, laughed at my beliefs stepping on everything I was. What else do you want? What else can you obtain from me?"

Every idea travelled with increasing strength and intensity, looking for an answer inside an empty mind, trying to connect with somebody that wasn't really there. But reason and logic do not always match; his current circumstances were too illogical to be true.

…………………

"What do you want from me?"

The question escaped that damaged vocalizer, the words almost unintelligible, trapped by static and their own low volume.

"Come on, Prowl, I know it's not too late. Things seem bad, but we'll get out of here," Mirage said, wanting so much to comfort that tortured spark. He wanted so much to show his friend that there was still somebody waiting for them, even if he wasn't sure if it was true.

…………………..

(Flashback)

Mirage was standing before the desk of Ultra Magnus, the current leader of the Autobots. He remained silent, thinking that Mirage's plan was perhaps the best option. Most of his unit was with Optimus Prime, on that planet called Earth.

A list of names was displayed.

"You are aware that if your plan fails we won't be able to come back for you."

"I know," Mirage said with conviction. "I don't expect you to do it."

Ultra Magnus stared at Mirage the same way he had done with Prowl some time ago. There were brave and honorable mechs in the Autobot army indeed; Ultra Magnus admired them, didn't doubt them. What his subordinate was about to do would save many lives. As always, the welfare of the majority surpassed a single individual's.

"Everybody will know about your decision and will respect your name. Your army is proud of you," the Autobot Commander said, extending his hand to his subordinate.

"It has always been a pleasure for me. Please send my regards to Prime when you get to Earth."

Mirage left, leaving the Commander without words. He knew another hero was leaving, one more of hundreds that war had created.

Who would have thought that an aristocrat like Mirage would end up making such kind of decisions?

………………….

"I'm not going to harm you. I know you don't believe me, but that's the truth," Mirage said.

Prowl was staring at him, cringing as he could, retreating toward the wall despite the pain he was inflicting himself by opening his wounds. He couldn't avoid it; he wanted to escape, to run away… he truly wanted to die.

Not even admitting defeat would help him. It didn't depend on that anymore. The control of Soundwave over him was overwhelming. Not even death would relieve him from suffering.

Mirage couldn't allow him to keep hurting himself anymore. It was frustrating how a brilliant intelligence could be dominated by terror in that way.

"You never allowed fear to dominate your reason. Logic was all that prevailed in your processor. If you could only see yourself now…" Mirage thought as he grasped his companion firmly. He found resistance; Prowl fought with the little strength he had left.

"Sssh Prowl…" Mirage whispered gently, keeping his comrade immobilized. "This is no game, no illusion… Try to believe what your optics are seeing. Stop denying reality."

The struggling decreased eventually, but not the tension.

Prowl could feel something different in that grip. He wished so much that he could believe it, wanted so much to accept it, to understand it… but something forced him to deny it.

"_Help me…"_ his mind kept repeating. He allowed Mirage to comfort him, leaning his weight on his hands.

They both stared at each other.

"Help me to believe," was all that Prowl could say.

…………….

_Goodness or evilness are not the paintjob we wear._

Soundwave came on line again. He hadn't seen the attack coming. He had been so absorbed in his new toy that for once in his life he forgot what was around him. But who could have thought someone would find a way to infiltrate the only safe place on Cybertron?

The Autobots had left a long time ago. The neutrals remaining on the planet were cowards, the ones that dared to oppose were simply eliminated. There was no one left to resist.

The Decepticon stood up. He was still in the same cell, now empty. He stared coldly at his surroundings, noticing the traces of energon, the scratches on the walls, the remains of the paint of his victim. It had been so amusing. Every scream and every denial had became a drug for him, inciting him to be more and more cruel every time. But he trusted the fugitives wouldn't get too far. Cybertron belonged to the Decepticons. Nobody would help a wounded soldier, even less if he was an Autobot.

Perhaps what had happened was what he needed to recover the feeling of a challenge.

He resolved to act in consequence.

Starscream would arrive soon, but Soundwave still had time to have fun.

_To be continued._

_Autor's notes: It is said that when something is too good, it can't be true. But if we don't believe in the existence of something to keep going, then where is the meaning of life? Thanks to irate pirate for be Beta Reader, and Taipan for translate._


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter 5**

**A tortured mind**

There is no such thing as a real answer for a necessity. What is blind dependence made of? What kind of motivation makes a mech forget about the most important thing that comes after life? What does it take to ignore freedom?

...

Darkness reigned on the surroundings as the remains of the memories continued present. One mech traveled from corner to corner, looking coldly for a logic explanation to everything he had lived. There had to be a reason, a real reason, to justify everything that had happened, something that the enemy was looking for after such a brutal torture.

"Don't try to understand," Mirage said, the only one who had also had the courage enough to stay behind. Prowl knew, very inside his damaged processor, he understood reality. But how could he reply, now that he lacked of his former logic?

Prowl stared at his hands in frustration. He felt like screaming the disgust he felt for himself, he needed to let go that weakness that marked him as an easy target, as a helpless victim, too wounded to heal. Just imagining what others might think of him invaded him with shame.

But what else could happen, when he considered himself pathetic?

...

_Prowl…_

"_My spirit has been soiled, the light has gone almost completely, I can only see darkness."_

Mirage stared at him with sadness.

"_Don't be sorry for me. I chose this destiny, only me…" _Prowl continued thinking as he tried to vanish. His body pressured the wall, trying to disappear. The sound of metal against metal flooded the small room, as his hands frenetically tried to trespass the wall in an attempt to tear off that cage keeping him prisoner. Energon stains over the cold reality. Only pain gave him some peace, that and also the need to understand there was no reason to be afraid anymore.

Mirage noticed the damage he was causing Prowl by trying to save him. Vital fluid escaped through the spy's hands, falling on the white structure of his friend.

Prowl seemed resigned. "I understand it and accept it. Why don't you? Why do you insist in protecting me when the last thing I want is protection? I only want a fast ending, maybe it's a coward solution but it's for the best. Why do you keep trying, when everything you believed is gone? I thought there was no future anymore. I accepted destiny, I knew it was time to face the ending. And then you arrive out of nowhere with a positive attitude, with renewed strength, with your faith… I know you believe you are helping me, that you have given me a second chance, but the only thing you are giving me is more torture."

...

Mirage knew that look, understood the despair reflected in the optics of the one who once had been his friend. The once haughty voice was no more; it was nothing but the cry of a shattered soul.

"You asked me to help you. I won't let you die," Mirage said, picking up his friend. Prowl struggled but Mirage's grip was stronger.

"Look at me, Prowl. I know that you think that moving on is not worth it, but your spark says otherwise. Deep inside of you, you don't want to end like this. Let me help you, open yourself to me," Mirage said as he carefully leaned his friend against a wall. He needed for Prowl to listen to him, he needed to make him understand.

Prowl's face showed all his pain, all his shame. He would have liked to avert his face but Mirage didn't allow him to.

"You, among everybody else, understand the importance of the need to keep fighting. What would the others say if they saw you like this? You were a hero, Prowl, someone to look up to, or have the Decepticons taken everything of you? Are they the winners then, and there's no future for us? Did I risk everything for nothing?" Mirage questioned seriously, leaving the most painful recrimination for the last. "Did Jazz died for nothing?"

...

The mind is hard to understand, even more when it's filled with nothing but confusion, but at the end, the soul is the one who wins the battles.

...

Prowl couldn't answer. He wished he could have done it, but he had nothing to say in his defense. He was an officer, he knew what would happen to him if he ended within enemy's hands.

He leaned on Mirage, losing himself in his words, and suddenly he began to acknowledge his surroundings. As a dream, reason seemed to return to him, as Mirage's hands held him.

"Please follow me, allow me to be the guide you need. Just give me one chance," Mirage whispered.

...

Soundwave put his pieces in motion. It didn't matter if Starscream arrived; Soundwave had something more important to deal with. The Seeker would be certainly furious, but the results would proved to be more than words and, at the end, Starscream would be pleased.

The planet belonged to the Decepticons; there was nothing to worry about. But traitors had to be eradicated, especially the ones that were hidden within the shadows, waiting to counterattack.

But Soundwave was so sure about his victory that he didn't mind about Prowl and Mirage. What could two simple Autobots do against the entire Decepticon army? The answer was simple. NOTHING.

The Autobots were destined to failure and to become whatever their captors desired.

...

It was easy for obsession to cloud reason, even the reason of the most intelligent mech.

...

Mirage consulted his internal chronometer. He and Prowl didn't have much time; probably Soundwave was already searching for them. They were in clear disadvantage and even though Prowl seemed to be better than at the beginning, the way ahead was still too long for two Autobots in the middle of enemy territory.

"We don't have much time. We have to get out of here as soon as possible," Mirage said, assuming the role of leader. They had to escape and hide, perhaps try to lose themselves among the Neutralists. That could work; Prowl didn't look like a warrior anymore; he looked more like a victim, without any insignias to identify him. Mirage, on the other hand, needed to get rid of the badges that showed his alliance. But he didn't mind about a superficial color, his loyalty resided inside of him. So he erased his insignias as he could, scratching his armor and trying to disguise himself.

_This will be like a suicide, _he thought. But he knew there was no way back.

To be continued...

...

_Author's notes: It wasn't confusion, indeed. Jazz was inside Prowl's mind. His guilt allowed him to feel him._

_I know this fic can be confusing or too deep in some moments, but mind itself is difficult to understand and to explain sometimes, even more when dealing with a trauma as big as the one Prowl is facing._

_Anyway, I hope you will enjoy this fic. I appreciate your comments a lot and I'll try to make the next chapters easier._

_Thanks Taipan for translate this fic, I don't have a beta reader, but I hope you like._


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter 6**

**First step**

Prowl followed Mirage with heavy, slow steps, every one of them a torture. His damaged structure kept sending him warnings about an imminent collapse, but he knew that stopping was not an option when the Decepticons were so close to them.

…

_The harder the way, the better the goal._

….

Mirage knew that Prowl was suffering, even though the tactician was doing his best to hide it. But he couldn't silence the creak of his joints at every step he took. Prowl didn't complain, though, focusing all his remaining strength in keeping his legs in motion amongst the devastating view that surrounded them: destroyed cities, debris and the remains of their once great civilization. Life was nowhere to be seen.

But that's why the Autobots fought; to protect the very little that remained standing, to bring back to life a place in which only devastation reigned.

"I'm only slowing you down," Prowl said finally, stopping after tripping and falling to the ground. He cursed in silence, repressing the cry of desperation crushing his vocalizer as Mirage stared back at him. Prowl felt useless, completely deprived of motivation, but every time he looked at Mirage's face, he knew he had to go on.

"Did Jazz die for nothing?"

Those words continued overwhelming Prowl's spark with devastating guilt and regret. _No, his friend hadn't died for nothing…_ he thought as he managed to get up one more time. His body was exhausted, but he didn't care; only the will to prove that not everything was lost mattered.

Mirage didn't say a word, knowing that Prowl would need time to overcome what had happened, to accept his reality and move on. That was the second step towards recovery.

"Don't you think it's late to worry about that?" Mirage finally said, trying to distract him. Prowl didn't reply, aware of the reason behind those words. Mirage had abandoned the chance to leave that place only to look for a lost cause.

"Don't disappoint me. Don't make me regret this, Prowl."

Every word joined every step in an effort to invoke the remains of will that Prowl still had. But for him there were nothing but a curse that forced him to move on, to hold to the faith that Mirage still had, one that he was unable to understand. It wasn't logical, after all.

_If there's one truth in the Universe, is that logic doesn't solve everything, _he said to himself, something that his partner repeated again and again.

"Can you go on?" Mirage asked, politely and yet resigned. "Do you need to stop?"

Prowl refused and hid his reality. "Let's continue. It's bad enough not being able to move faster."

"We are getting closer to a camp of neutralists. Maybe we'll find shelter there," Mirage said, casting a glance at the self inflicted marks that invaded his frame. He had been forced to alter his appearance in order to hide his true identity, and he had done it very well. He looked just like any other mech that had managed to survive the war.

Prowl nodded to his friend's suggestion, unable to reply otherwise. He was afraid that his weakness would be revealed if he spoke. There was no need to worry Mirage more than he already was.

Prowl couldn't help to scrutinize his friend's structure, analyzing every wound, every scar… the once shinning and polished metal hid behind a marred frame.

"Come on," Mirage said. Prowl followed, thankful for the few moments of rest. Anybody else wouldn't have noticed that that simple talk had been Mirage's way to help him, anybody else…. But Prowl had.

A soft smile appeared on his face, if only for a moment. He was beginning to feel alive again. Maybe Mirage was right after all, and there was something left to be saved out there.

….

Soundwave walked through the surroundings of the base, meticulously analyzing every spot in order to find clues that guided him towards his targets. His subordinates watched from a respectful distance. Prudence was something all the Decepticons had when being in his presence.

_Don't think, don't speak, don't reveal anything, because anything can take you towards a terrible ending. _That was the motto every Decepticon followed when being close to Soundwave. The Communications Officer was feared even by his own kind. His unique abilities gave him an advantage over the most powerful enemy.

Soundwave barely revealed anything about his real personality, keeping a stoic attitude most of the time. But rumors were more than enough to create fear amongst his troops, that and how vicious he could be when he interrogated a prisoner. Very few brave mechs dared to challenge him. Besides Megatron, only Shockwave and Starscream dared to look at him in the optics.

"Find the Autobots," Soundwave ordered coldly. "I want them alive." It was more than clear that he knew that the fate of those two Autobots lied only in his hands.

….

Prowl and Mirage arrived to the camp of neutrals. They caught unwanted attention; it wasn't common to see survivors wandering around those days. It was, after all, Decepticon territory and very few dared to enter the zone.

_It's useless, we must not stop here, _Prowl thought, detecting the recrimination in the optics of every neutral robot staring at them. Nobody knew their affiliation, but he could feel the anger directed at them. Mirage ignored the unfriendly stares, though. He seemed to be used to that kind of reactions, even considered them natural.

…..

_War can corrupt, arising walls even in the noblest soul._

…_.._

"Don't worry," Mirage whispered as he helped Prowl to continue walking and entering the camp, not worrying about the strangers staring at them.

….

_Prowl…_

This is the result of our war, the product of that equation. We thought we were saving them, protecting them, but we were doing nothing but condemning them. Them and our world.

Is it right to continue after this, after the savior only doomed the rest to an even worse fate? But how is it possible to know what was right and what not?

_(Flashback)_

Prowl stopped beside Jazz. They both had barely made it alive after a terrible fight, and another city taken by enemy's hands. As the other Autobots continued organizing, Jazz and Prowl had tried to save as many lives as possible.

"I don't understand. Why?" the saboteur said, kneeling beside an inert body. Terror was still spread through that face, revealing the last thought he must have had before dying.

"Why?" Prowl replied, confused. What was left to understand? They both knew the reason of their fight, they both would defend that insignia and those ideals. What was so confusing for Jazz to understand?

"The Decepticons respect nothing, that's the answer you are looking for," Prowl said with strong conviction, which left no place for doubts or questioning.

But Jazz was not any other mech. He had always had doubts. Not in their goals or in what they stood for, but in the methods. "But how did we get here?" he continued, walking through the shattered street. "Why so much collateral damage? Why destroying the few buildings that remain standing? Why being as destructive as our enemies? What difference does it make?"

_Fire is to be fought with fire, and we have to do it. Maybe you don't realize it now, but things will change in the future,_ Prowl thought, without responding.

"Tell me, is it worth it?" Jazz said, confronting his superior officer.

"It is, Jazz. You may question our methods now, but at the end you will understand the reason," Prowl said before leaving his friend. He still had a report to deliver.

….

The scene arrived clearly to Prowl's processor, bringing back all those moments that later would become a fundamental part of his life.

"It's ironic that you died for that reason, Jazz, for that ideal that once you dared to question. And I… I'm still here, trapped, wondering if you spoke with the truth."

…..

_The line that divides good from evil, right from wrong, is so thin that sometimes it's impossible to find. But once you cross it, it's impossible to return._

…_._

Mirage stopped in front of one building. "Wait here", he said, allowing Prowl to lean on a wall before leaving him.

Prowl remained motionless, discreetly glancing at the neutral mechs. They seemed to be able to compute only two feelings: pity and anger. Prowl knew that his frame was not even the shadow of what it used to be. Dents and scars revealed the pain he was struggling to hide. It seemed that the neutrals were trying to see the mystery behind those marks. Was his presence a danger? What was his denomination? Why was he there?

The Autobot returned his attention to the one thing that was familiar to him, a wound on his frame that exposed his circuitry.

"What was your affiliation?"

Prowl turned to the one who had spoken, a mech who hadn't been able to hold his curiosity in order to know the origins of one of the newcomers. The stranger walked towards him with fast steps, making Prowl flinch. His paranoia was returning, his mind blurring as the need to escape became bigger.

_What does he want from me? What is he looking for?_

The stranger stopped when he noticed Prowl's reaction. He had seen many mechs in similar situations. He had watched them die, their sparks extinguishing, victims of horrifying situations that marked them for the remaining of their lives. Curiosity was replaced by pity.

Prowl didn't reply, he didn't want to. All he needed was to walk away, to get out of there no matter what. He could barely speak, and now he didn't know what to do. For the first time he realized that he had no idea where he was.

"Mirage," he whispered. "Mirage…" his voice was nothing but an incoherent sound, but it was his only method of communication in his traumatized state. His programming was working frantically to overcome all those corrupted files that denied him a real communication.

Desperation made him see the situation with different optics, the road ahead being the only way out… Imminent salvation… Ignoring any warnings, Prowl started his transformation sequence, metal creaking as being forced into a shape that was forgotten. As the metal, Prowl also cried in pain, trapped within his own fear and forgetting about the damage he was inflicting to himself. His frame trembled, some fractures opening as he fell heavily on the ground.

A devastating cry ran through the camp, scaring everyone around. The mech who had approached Prowl stepped back, scared and unable to help the one invaded by his own pain. He hadn't meant any harm, he was just curious, only curious…

Mirage ran out from the building and found Prowl, his alt mode covered in energon. He reached his friend, trying to realize if he was still on line, but it seemed that Primus had given him some rest, or perhaps pain had ended its destructive labor on his processor.

Two robots appeared behind the doors of the building, carrying medical equipment and ready to assist. None of them said anything about the incident; they just focused on their work. They seemed to understand that there was no point in looking for someone to blame. The Autobots were guilty themselves, their stubbornness to continue fighting having no meaning at all anymore.

The Allspark was not even there anymore.

The neutralist who had approached Prowl watched the two mechs carrying the wounded Autobot inside the building. He bowed his head in shame and left the place.

….

Mirage left the experts to work, stepping aside. He knew the basics concerning repairs, but this was beyond his knowledge. He couldn't allow himself to weaken, he reassured to himself as he looked at a small chip that contained a codified message that could mean hope.

"Maybe we are not the only ones who still have faith," he said to himself, although his hope was threatened by the recent incident with Prowl.

...

Thanks for read, continue soon...


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter 7**

**Stranger**

_Author's notes: There are moments in which we doubt even of ourselves._

…

Mirage walked outside the camp, his gaze fixated on the horizon as he pondered their options. Prowl was worse than he imagined, which complicated their situation. The tactician's reactions still wandered through Mirage's processor, the recent grotesque scene repeating itself again and again.

How letting something like that go? How to forget it? It was easier when the face involved was the one of a stranger; it was relatively simple when one was used to see things like that every day. But when the one suffering was someone close, a friend, perspective and logic changed. How could Mirage erase those images from his mind? How could he let go the damage that now he was sharing with the friend he had tried to help? Prowl was a stranger now.

Mirage was intelligent, he was trained to face difficult situations, but never of that kind. His attention focused again on the desolated scenario before him, nothing but old, abandoned structures; vestiges from the past, of golden times now forgotten. That world was as foreign to its own memories as Prowl was, that stranger that appeared to be him, but that would never be again.

…

_It is said that when something very important happens, things are never the same._

…_.._

_Does everything the Decepticons touch have to end like this? _The question overwhelmed Mirage's thoughts, disrupting his reality. Things had been different once, but now they were nothing but a dream, an illusion that only the melancholic mechs kept for themselves. He had tried to think about something else, tried to distract his mind from the fatalities behind, but not all the time he had the sight of a friend torturing himself. The sound of servos creaking as a body forced itself to transform was the symphony of that night, wounds reopening painfully in an effort to escape from an unbearable reality.

How far had a torture had to go to obtain that kind of results? What did the two of them were really looking for? Any question was useless now; all that remained was the possibility of helping his friend to find a way out.

_I don't know what I need to recover you, Prowl. Some would say that luck, but luck doesn't exist. It has to be built, and if we don't work to make it happen, then it's not real, _he said to himself, remembering another reason that had dragged them both to the current situation.

….

(Flashback)

"He just left, refusing to hear any explanation or reproach," the tactician's complaint could be heard as he wrote some instructions on his data pad.

The Rec Room was a very populated place after a battle or when important events took place. They were still mechs after all, with lives and reasons to go on. But in that moment most of them waited outside the base, saying goodbye to the leader who had guided them for eras.

Optimus and some of his officers were leaving to a suicidal mission. The last battle had been worse than a nightmare, and yet the plan continued as Prime wanted, without delays or changes of opinion.

Prowl wasn't part of that crowd, aware that he would be reprimanded for his absence, but he was so upset that he couldn't have acted otherwise. Saying goodbye… it wasn't normal for him to feel that way; his processor drowning the rage and the impotence of knowing that his opinion hadn't mattered.

But now it was too late. Nothing else could be done.

"You shouldn't get upset. You know that is all for our future," Mirage explained, watching him.

The former aristocrat was silent when he wanted; Prowl didn't notice him until he spoke. Mirage was a spy, after all, able to hide his presence, to make himself literally invisible.

"I know," Prowl replied dryly, turning his gaze to the other Autobot. Both remained silent again, allowing the temporal peace to wrap them. There was nothing they could do now; things were out of their control and all they could do was hoping that the plan would work, just as their Prime had told them it would happen. That's all they had left to continue.

"I know," Prowl repeated to himself, aware that that was all he could say.

….

The moment for reflection had to come to an end. It was a shame that their beautiful planet had turned into a ruin, ruled by mechs without scruples that were only looking for entertainment after their devastating victory.

A defeat that had been foretold for the Autobots since the day their leader left.

…..

_I wonder if you thought about the consequences of your actions. What leaded you to take that decision? Why did you leave us behind without hesitation? _Mirage thought. Time continued running by and, with it, also the risks of being located by the Decepticons. He didn't know if it was worth it.

He shook his head. _It's just the first obstacle and you are already doubting. You didn't come this far only to give up so soon. _Prowl's depression seemed to be contagious. It was unavoidable.

A withered world, without present or future, with a forgotten past, but that was his home. Mirage laughed softly. What else could he do? Giving up was not an option.

_If I would've known the price of that promise, at least I would've charged you a little more, _his ironic thoughts went on. He was talking to a ghost, to a lost soul that would hear him no more. But it didn't matter if he only addressed the wind, the only one willing to receive his message. Irony wasn't part of his personality, but in moments like these it was the only comfort he could find to his loneliness.

_How many pain you went through? How much suffering you had to stand before giving up? _Questions continued repeating in his mind, desperately looking for an answer. Mirage had survived many deadly and difficult situations, but it was so hard to see the damage through the optics of a friend. It was unbearable.

His hand held a small chip, the reason of his presence there in the first place. The initial idea had been to pay a fast visit to the camp and then leave. Mirage knew that it was still too soon to expect a real interaction with Prowl, but he had never imagined such ending…

"And everything for a chip, for a small object that could have contained a reason to believe again in that absurd Faith," he said to himself, frustrated, questioning if he had done the right thing.

…

_Only losers give up before fighting._

….

Foreign footsteps could be heard at the same time that a silhouette stopped some distance away. It seemed like the stranger knew about patience. He waited, observed, carrying the waited message, but respecting the privacy of the mech ahead of him.

Mirage didn't bother in turning around. He kept his firm stance, blank against the darkness that populated his current life. There were no lights illuminating the wide roads, no neon colors dressing the buildings. But still, the delicacy of his design continued standing out despite the disguise he was wearing. He was a high society mech forced to live and fight with the rest, preparing to face the most dangerous things the Decepticons could threw them. War had taught him something: it didn't matter where he came from. Life itself computed only one thing, and that was his destination.

The newcomer advanced again.

"How much time?" Mirage whispered, still without staring at the other mech. His mind continued digressing between possibilities.

"Inexistent," came the reply, as cold as the one of a Decepticon would have been. It was impossible to imagine that that same mech was one of his own, that at some point his jokes had transformed in a very little practical, dark sense of humor.

"Are you still going to do it?" Mirage asked, understanding the meaning of the deal. Energon credits didn't matter in a world in ruins. Value simply didn't exist in the thing that had never really been precious.

"I'll take my chances," the other mech answered without interest, although there was something in his voice that pointed toward his hidden intentions.

Mirage waited for that part of the deal. He knew that sooner or later, the real prize would be revealed.

…..

_Nothing comes for free, and every little thing demands something in return. Favors exist no more._

…..

"What do you really want?" Mirage asked, finally turning around to face the distinctive figure of his companion.

…..

_Sometimes destiny is kind, and sometimes is cruel. It all depends on how you look at it._

…..

The Autobot watched the other mech smiling.

"It's good to see you here," he said. His figure was similar to Prowl. Shape, style and size were very alike, but his color scheme and attitude made the big difference. They were like day and night; this mech was everything that Prowl was not anymore.

"Smokescreen," Mirage said, somewhat shocked. He remembered the disappearance of the mech who followed Prowl's steps, with different ideas, but effective just the same.

"We thought… we thought that you…" Mirage continued, but he was interrupted by the other Autobot, who advanced towards him with anger on his blue optics.

"Everybody thinks the same," he snapped. "That's their explanation for everything. You disappear for a while and the next thing they think is that you're dead without even trying to find you. Tell me, Mirage, in your little fantasy world, do you have any idea what happens to an Autobot when he falls to the hands of the Decepticons? Do you at least have any idea of what reality is? Or do you simply buy all those pathetic reports that are given to us all the time?" Smokescreen asked severely, folding his arms across his chest, anger evident in his stance. "It would impress you to know how many of us were left behind. Time is not forgiving; most of the sparks are extinguished now, along with the hope of returning home."

Mirage didn't say anything, but his silence said more than a thousand words. Smokescreen was an ally, but an enemy alike. How could he trust in somebody that had lived so much time after being captured? Perhaps it was a trap to steal their precious freedom away from them.

"You don't know that," Smokescreen said, as if he could read his thoughts. "I would also doubt in your position, but I'm the only one who can help you." He walked towards Mirage and stopped right beside him, both Autobots staring at the same scenario.

"I'm not the same you knew, that's true," Smokescreen continued. "My experiences have told me that life is difficult, that trusting someone is not a good idea, but at the same time I'm still one of your own. I can be careless, arrogant, and maybe even cruel."

Smokescreen made a pause and stared at the sky before continuing speaking. His expression was thoughtful and melancholic, an expression impossible to fake or imitate.

"I'm not completely a stranger, Mirage."

…

_It is said that there are things that not even the best actor can imitate._

….

"I always was and will be an Autobot. It doesn't matter if I never leave this world or end my days at the hands of the enemy, I still want to believe that we haven't lost this war, that we can survive enough to know the truth," Smokescreen said, staring at his old unit partner.

"They are not coming back," Mirage said. It was an affirmation.

"Not now, but maybe in the future. Nobody knows what will happen."

"Can you help him?" Mirage asked his question again.

"It depends only on Prowl," Smokescreen replied, lowering his door-wings. "His will, his pride, his personality… everything has been distorted, trapping him in another reality. He can't see things as we see them, he doesn't understand what is happening around him. He won't do it without feeling pain, the only constant thing that accompanied him during all the time he was captive. If your question is 'Will we recover Prowl?', the answer is yes, but he will never be the same; he will always be a stranger trying to find his place. But don't let that fool you. He will still be Prowl."

Mirage knew that the other mech wasn't lying. Smokescreen had never been one to play with the truth.

"Are there more of us left?" was his last question, the one that would end their conversation.

Smokescreen laughed softly.

"It would be logic to think not," he whispered.

….

_Never and always are rarely adequate. There will always be many things in between._

…..

Words were not needed anymore. Mirage and Smokescreen didn't fully trust in each other, but they both were Autobots and would recover what was theirs. Cybertron was theirs.

Both warriors walked back to the place where Prowl was resting, aware that they needed the tactician functional again before looking for more survivors. There had to be others existing within the darkness, at the same time trying to erase their existence.

….

A terrified mech stared at the bonds that kept him tied to the repair berth. After forcing him to recover his bipedal form, he had been immobilized as his wounds were treated. But he kept struggling, hurting himself, crying in horror to what he saw as captors. His desperate shouts invaded the corridors, but they were no pleas, only his reaction to fear.

….

_Prowl…_

I see the others working on me. I feel their hands over my body, trying to repair it. Deep inside I know that they don't want to hurt me, but it's so difficult to understand, as if I couldn't stop myself from struggling, as if I couldn't react otherwise. During my imprisonment, every time someone approached me was to hurt me; that became the only constant that kept me alive. Maybe that's why now I'm not able to understand that not everything that touches me implies pain.

It's sad to imagine that I need it. I need to suffer to know I exist. I know that there is someone trying to help me, but is that for the better? There are moments in which I don't recognize myself. My addiction to pain grows, and my exhausted circuits cry for attention.

This is wrong, very wrong, I say to myself. I'm damaged. Nothing has sense anymore. Only these ties avoid me to escape, but who would I escape from? From the comfort of a friend? From the help I begged so much to obtain? Or from the reality I'm not able to confront?

Sometimes I don't recognize myself. I don't know why I'm here. Then I remember; the memories, his orders, the missions, a sacrifice… Not mine.

The medics continue working, but I have hopes that sooner or later they will get tired and leave, as everyone who has come to help has done. There is no such thing as a real future. We have lost, that's what awaits us. Deep inside I know I can't escape.

….

To be continue…


End file.
